24. Asher

Eveand I always went home on Sunday afternoon for lunch. Today, I got there early, parking outside at the curb.

"Hey, Ash. Looking good," called Greta, a woman from across the street.

She'd been my babysitter when I was younger, and now I was all grown up. Unfortunately, life hadn't been kind to Greta. She had three kids under five, an absent baby daddy, and no one but her deadbeat cousin to live with.

Greta's story wasn't unusual in my neighborhood. Desperate times made for desperate people, and being poor was a desperate time. I'd been dirt-poor when I was young, but I'd never felt the pinch of it. My mom had sheltered Eve and me from all of that, going without so we might feel the same as our friends. The number of nights my mom went to bed with an empty stomach, so we could eat and grow, broke my heart to think about.

I was happy my mom was getting out of the neighborhood, though I knew she'd miss her friends. Beckett and his father had bought her a new place. It was safe and comfortable, and all paid off. A miracle in my mother's eyes, but I knew she'd miss our street and the families who lived on it. There was a sense of community south of River Street that I'd never found anywhere else.

I headed through the rusted gate and onto the porch of my childhood home. I didn't know how I felt about selling the old place. I'd grown up between these walls. My past, the happy memories, and the sad ones, were all here. It was a shrine to times past, and I'd miss it, honestly, though I wanted the best for my mom.

"Mama?" I called as I stepped inside, taking my boots off and hanging up my heavy leather jacket.

If you wanted to survive long in Melly Martino's house, you took your goddamn shoes off at the door and washed your hands before you ate. You cleaned up the dishes after dinner, did your homework, and kissed your mama on the cheek before bed. Those were the rules, and they'd worked for us.

Slowly, as we'd gotten older, the lines had blurred a little. I'd started to pay what bills I could, and so had my sister. I'd see my mother to bed, kissing her on the cheek before going out with friends, and I had her call me when it got late and she hadn't come home from work yet.

I'd been born the man of my house, and I'd always tried my best to be what the women who loved me needed me to be. A protector, a provider, a shoulder to cry on, and a strong arm to hold up the world when it threatened to crash down. I'd been born knowing all those things were my responsibility, one I'd never shirk. I was nothing like the man who left a one-night stand pregnant with twins and walked away.

Nothing.

That didn't mean I didn't want to know him. The desire to know what kind of man my father was plagued me. I didn't know my past, and I couldn't seem to move on from it.

"Mijo, you're here early." Mom appeared from the kitchen, dusting flour off her hands.

I went and swept her into a hug. She was so small lately, like she was shrinking. She'd never been tall, but now, as she'd gotten older and I'd gotten bigger, the difference was extreme.

"I wanted to come and see my favorite person," I told her.

She laughed and patted my arm. "You always say the right things. Come on, you can help me roll the dough for the empanadas. Wash your hands."

I followed her orders and stared at myself in the mirror as I dried my hands. Was I really going to ask my mom to reach back into painful memories to give me a name? Was that selfish?

In the kitchen, the dough was ready to be rolled, and Mom was cooking the filling at the stove. The spicy scent of onions and fried peppers permeated the air. It was pure and simply home to me.

I sat, sprinkling flour over my hands. I was used to the recipe. I could have made it in my sleep.

"So, tell me about school. How was the game in Portland?"

Mom never came to away games. She worked too many damn hours cleaning to have time to travel. She always came to the home games, though. One day, I'd fly her to every NHL game she wanted to see, and I'd play my fucking heart out to make her proud. One day.

I filled her in on the game, and we talked about everything and nothing for a while, until she found an opportunity to steer the conversation in a certain direction.

"I heard that there's something going on with you and a girl," Mom said after a moment, angling a sly look at me.

Shit.How had she found out? No doubt someone from the neighborhood had told her. Folks around here treated my college hockey career as though I was already a pro.

"Did you?" I evaded her probing.

"Asher, tell me. Is she your girlfriend?"

Was I really going to lie to my mom about Winter? It was one thing to lie to her parents and my friends. Harmless, really. But lying to my mom? That was something else entirely.

"We're figuring it out," I settled for saying.

"She looks high-maintenance," Mom fretted. "Don't be one of those boys who puts themselves in debt to keep up with their girlfriend."

I blinked at her. That had come out of nowhere. I thought of Winter, and her birthday, and the time we'd spent together on the roof at The Dunes. She'd been so jaded by money and her parents' gift of a new Amex. I recalled the Carrick knot sitting in her drawer in her room, my homemade gift to her. She'd kept it.

"She's not the kind of woman who wants presents, honestly. She can buy herself whatever she needs."

"What does she want?" Mom wondered.

"Time. Attention…someone who shows up." Someone to see her like she really is, and not just the window dressing.

Mom raised an eyebrow at me. "Does she treat you well?"

I laughed. "Not at all. She's a pain in the ass. The most infuriating woman I've ever met. A headache, a handful…" I broke off, chuckling at the image of her in her vibrating panties.

Mom was just watching me. A soft look came over her features. "You really like her, don't you?"

I stilled, my hands covered in flour, knuckle-deep in dough. "She's…interesting."

"Interesting sounds like trouble."

"Interesting is fun," I told her. "I've never met anyone like her."

She sighed. "At this rate it'll be a double wedding. At least I know Beckett, though." She pointed a finger at me. "Message this girl and ask her to dinner tonight."

I shook my head. "She'll be busy." I couldn't picture Winter sitting in my mother's kitchen. I wasn't sure I was ready for those two worlds to collide just yet.

"Ask. I want to meet this interesting girl."

"Mama, I have a certain reputation to maintain. I can't be asking a girl home to meet my mom yet, especially at such short notice."

"Call her or I will. I'll get her number from your sister." Mom sniffed, and that was the end of the conversation.

Goddamn it.Winter, in my childhood home, humble and cramped at it was. Still, I knew I had no choice. I took out my phone and fired off a message to Winter.

My mom is going to ask you to dinner tonight. Don't worry if you're busy, it's not a big deal, just say you have plans.

"You know, Winter's father is a really big deal around town, and it got me thinking…"

I tensed as Mom's demeanor changed. I still wasn't sure what I'd decided about meeting my dad, but the conversation with Axel had stuck with me. Could I just forget him, or would I always wonder?

"I want to reach out to my father."

Her shoulders went right up, her defenses springing into action. She hated to be asked about the man who had knocked her up and refused to man up and marry her, or at the very least, be in his children's lives.

"Asher, why are you bringing this up again?" she asked softly. A misty look filled her eyes. "Am I not enough for you?"

I swallowed the hot protest that swelled my throat. "That's not fair. I never said that."

Mom shook her head, tiny and frail and hitting me hard with guilt. This was what always happened. Asking her about my father shook her so bad, I always dropped the subject, sometimes for years at a time.

"I just wish you could respect my decision to put that man in the past instead of dragging this idea around and never giving me peace," she said.

The guilt intensified.

"I'm sorry, Mama. I'm sorry." I got up and went to her.

A tear made its way down her face and damned me to Hell. I never wanted to upset this woman, the best one I knew.

"Forget I asked," I soothed her and brought her into a hug.

We stood there, the woman who had sacrificed everything to give me a good shot at life and her ungrateful son, until we heard the front door open.

Eve's voice drifted through the house, followed by the deep tones of Beckett. My mom drew back, all pulled together now. "Let's have a nice dinner, shall we?"

I watched her go to greet my sister and Beckett and checked my phone.

Could you make it sound more like you don't want me there? Thanks for the invite. See you in half an hour. W x